


A Viktor's prize

by MJ_Gumball



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Chubby Katsuki Yuuri, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Dirty Dancing, Drunk Katsuki Yuuri, Eventual Smut, I don't know what else to tag, M/M, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Pole Dancing, Porn With Plot, Stripper Katsuki Yuuri, VictUuri, will tag more later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MJ_Gumball/pseuds/MJ_Gumball
Summary: How he'd gone from thinking about applying for a fast food job to becoming an exotic dancer - a stupid name really seeing as he was Japanese dancing for other Japanese women and men so he wasn't really exotic - was beyond him. However, like any other story it all started with a single fateful evening.A single fateful evening, a best friend, a sturdy bed post and his bad habit of over-indulgence.Okay so maybe it wasn't like any other story.貯金箱поросенокporcellinoPiggy





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first fanfiction here on Ao3 but I've written some successful ones on wattpad so if any of you are interested in Gumlee, Lancelot (Lance x Lotor" with a side of klance angst or Frostpan let me know in the comments and I'll import my stories here when I can c: 
> 
> Anyway this story is actually inspired by this video so go check it out ---> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5d614R3v0Nw 
> 
> Also! There's a hidden anime in this chapter, see if you can name it in the comment section c;
> 
> Hope you enjoy this story and if you do please don't forget to like or comment as feedback is really appreciated ^-^
> 
> ~ MJ Gumball <3

PROLOGUE - A drunk game of Candy Crush 

 

It was a privilege – to be given permission to have so many conditions in Yuuri’s line of work. However, it was a leisure for him to be able to choose which to follow – a luxury he could afford in the run-down club hidden in the maze of alleyways connecting the child friendly world to the world ruled entirely by man’s sexual fantasies. 

In hindsight Yuuri could have easily submitted an application to whatever the Japanese equivalent of the USA’s red and yellow fast food patriot was.  
His college degree – a combination of Arts and Business – practically guaranteed him a promotion into a managerial position over the 19 and 20-year old’s working to pay off their crippling debt of at least 180,000 ¥.  
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought it over, the tempting call of fluorescent lights and oil soaked foods enticed his salivary glands causing him to slip into a food-induced daze. 

Had this not been real life, Katsuki Yuuri could have sworn that phantom images of said food haunted his line of sight with their chemically enhanced colours and non-existent scents. 

There were many words to describe Yuuri’s appetite. 

Hiroko Katsuki, his mother and co-owner of their family’s hot spring in Haesetsu insisted that he had a healthy appetite, gushing boastfully to other mothers how compliant little Yuuri had been when it had come to his food.

Toshiya Katsuki, his father and owner of the family business would say that his son had a bad habit of over indulging himself before laughing a he mentioned how much Yuuri took after his mother in that way. 

Mari Katsuki, his older sister took her role as an oldest sibling seriously and with accordance to the unspoken duties of the eldest child she teased his pudgy belly and soft hips whenever the opportunity happened to arise. Said opportunities often appeared during dinner time, his chubby curves peeking shyly out from underneath his sweater as he polished off a second helping of Katsudon with a grateful “Itadakimasu!”  
‘Fat” was taboo at the Katsuki household. 

Yes, Yuuri was always ‘chubby’ or ‘over-indulging’ or even ‘curvy’ but never fat – not with his anxiety and absence of self-confidence. 

And he wasn’t fat – at least that’s what Yuuri convinced himself while standing in front of a full body length mirror, fingers twitching nervously at the hem of his shirt – struggling with the idea of exposing himself in such an intimate and vulnerable manner.  
He gained weight easily – was the best way to put it – so he ignored the call of his name by the comically animated fries and burgers hanging around his head like some sort of food angel’s halo. 

~ two weeks earlier ~ 

Yuuri could understand the need for drinks on such a day. 

The insistent ticking of the clock reminded him that it was in fact still day out, despite the absence of a sun in favour for the heavy accumulation of snow clouds blanketing the sky and its brightest star. . 

To say it was cold would be the norm. 

It was a goose bump bringing, teeth chattering, shiver causing kind of day. 

So, when his best friend had greeted him at the door of his single bedroomed unit – fit for a bachelor and his two guinea pigs aptly named Katsuki and Chaumont - with a bottle of cheap red wine Yuuri couldn’t say no. 

Phichit had read up somewhere that alcohol was able to keep a person warm and on a chilly day like this Yuuri offered little resistance to his friend’s Wikipedia searched information. They gathered themselves, the bottle and two glasses into the bedroom using Phichit’s abundance of pillows to fortify themselves in against any last minute sober thoughts that might cause them to chicken out. 

The first three drinks had them both giggling with each breath, the nothingness surrounding them proving to be some sort of hilarious untold joke to their drunken selves. “P-Phichit-kuuuuuun~” Yuuri had managed followed by a soft hiccup as he failed to comprehend that his glasses had fallen a few centimetres down his nose causing him to squint through the blurriness that was his vision “I think- you were right-“ 

The smaller Thai male simply giggled as Yuuri leant over his shoulders, pulling up an Answers.com page where a sceptic had posted a question regarding alcohol’s rumoured ability to produce heat when consumed. In between a fit of giggles and hiccups the two replied with drunken precision. 

“はい!”  
“ใช่!”  
“да!”  
“si!”  
“Yes!”  
~ 

The tenth drink had them both shit-faced, their cheeks blossoming as red as the skies depicted in Japanese folklore describing mythical wars between gods and corrupted spirits- 

Wait- 

-or was that from an anime Yuuri had binged just a few days ago?

Yuuri had somehow managed to work his sweater off – the thick material proving to be irritating as the heat from his excessive alcohol consumption burned just beneath his surface. 

Well- at least he’d tried too. 

He’d managed to get his head stuck in the too tight turtleneck, his energy rapidly depleting as he manically thrashed around trying to escape its knitted clutches. Admitting defeat, he slumped forward head still caught, and his soft tummy exposed to a giggling Phichit. 

“I’m- I’m fat” he sniffled into the snow soaked fabric curing his friend of his giggling. “No, No Yuuri! You’re not fat! You and your tummy are cute! You’re so healthy!” Phichit gushed, his concern for his friend’s self-image bringing him out of his drunken stupor for a good thirty seconds. 

It was most probably the alcohol coating his insides bringing about a hormone induced confidence while his liver protested the buzz of the devilish red liquid but Yuuri was easily convinced by Phichit’s words. 

With a cry that would have put Bishamon to shame Yuuri managed to free himself of the constricting material of the offending fabric all while Phichit’s drunken cries of “Kenpai!” and clicks of his camera’s phone melted into the background.  
~  
It was at 20 drinks – or was it 25? Numbers had become an unnecessary nuisance somewhere at 15 drinks and, so they were accordingly forgotten – when Yuuri found himself stripping completely – save for his briefs which indicated that there was still a somewhat sane part of him that hadn’t drowned in the Devil’s honey. 

“You- -hic- You’re so lewd Yuuuri~” Phichit slurred, using his hands to cover his eyes despite forgetting how to close his fingers to stop himself from peeking through the gaps.  
For Yuuri it was though his over indulgence had rendered his mind useless, its programming long forgotten in favour for the potential idiotic tendencies Yuuri was capable of in such a state of drunken vulnerability. 

The young Japanese male looked around the room for something to occupy his hormonal urges that came with his excessive drinking, Phichit’s towering bed post falling into his line of sight. 

“P-Phichit -hic- Phichit-kun I-I’m going to borrow this o-okay?” Yuuri managed to ask as he tested its strength against his weight. 

Yuuri was too drunk to know what he was doing, his body acting according to impulse, lending him the obscenity of an escort, the flexibility of a contortionist and the allure of Eros with each slow grind of his hips and each careful bend of his legs as he worked his from around the make-shift pole. 

Granted it was messy. 

A few bumps here and there that would gradually bruise come morning but Yuuri ignored the short pulses of pain, choosing to finish his routine by executing a perfect split, hands crossed over one another as they gripped the bed post above his head while his chest heaved with each tired breath he took. 

Phichit may have been drunk but he was well known for his blogging skills and with the first sensual grind of Yuuri’s hips the smaller male had hit record.  
He was practically starry-eyed when he’d submitted the video for public viewing under the title ‘Erose Katsuki’ before his battery drained completely, worn out from Phichit’s excessive use of Candy Crush throughout the night. 

“Yuuuuuuri~ I’m jealous now” he pouted childishly, sprawling himself out on a few pillows for comfort- because if he was going to wake up with a hangover he was going to do it comfortably. 

Unaware of his friend’s deed Yuuri had fallen asleep, sprawled out on the floor ungracefully like a murder victim’s chalk drawn figure, his body having over exerted himself with feats of drunken over confidence. 

Phichit had smiled softly, the cheap thrill of his excessive drinking starting to wear off. 

“Goodnight Yuuri” he’d spoken softly before falling into the same dreamless abyss.


	2. Kabuto-chan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! sorry for being away so much but with uni and writer's block, it's hard to come p with a chapter two xDD Sorry if it seems a bit rushed but I still hope you enjoy it! Leave a like and maybe some feedback if you have anything to say *^*

It wasn't unusual for Yuuri to wake up with a hangover that left him incapable of thought and coordination. Words having little importance as a string of regretful groans and self-pitying whines more then made up for his lack of diminished communication skills. 

It was normal when his internal organs flinched as Yuuri took the standard stance one would take when expelling remaining evidence of last night's bad decision into the procelain throne that was Pichit's single unit's toilet. His vision blurred beyond his already degenerated eyesight with unshed tears, until all distinct features merged together like some sort of drug induced psychosis. 

'He was that predictable,' came the miserable thought as his throat and stomach hung up a 'be back in five minutes' sign, taking a brief intermission. 

Even his hungover self had a routine and if Yuuri hadn't been painfully sober he'd think he was in some sort of Sims game. 

Drink. Regret. Repeat. 

It was routine when sober Yuuri crawled back into the room, falling back onto basics as gravity did little to help the throbbing ache of his migrane. Emerging from drunken bliss he'd become fully aware of the calories he'd consumed between the hours of 5 and 10 pm. 

Shit! That was 5 hours of calorie consumption. 

He racked his hazy mind for any sort of number that would add value to his excessive drinking, his gaze falling to the abandoned bottle of gold Koshu bleeding its last droplets of liquid gold onto the carpet. He made a mental note to clean the spill up before Pichit let Katsuki and Chuanont out from their cages. 

Cradling the bottle between both hands he pressed the murky glass within close proximity yo his face, his glasses having been long abandoned. There the three digit number glared back at him. Its 1-0-0 sequence proving to be an intimidating sight. 

100 calroies. 100 CALORIES! 

And like any other consumer product it was labelled as being per 100ml. 

Even sober, Yuuri had never nurtured any interest or patience for mathematics. Drunk on liquid gold and spurred on by his impulsive nature the word itself had been forgotten so with the grace of a newborn calf he managed to fish his phone out from under Phichit's arm- who no doubt was trying to bypass his passcode to get into candy crush after his own phone died. 

It stopped being routine when yuuri found himself pulling down his phone's notification ta, his eyes blown wide with disbelief - he'd gained an easy thousand followers overnight on Instagram. He racked his brain trying to remember what he'd posted last - maybe something about a pork cutlet bowl he'd made from scratch a couple days back. He had to admit - the photo was aesthetically pleasing to the eyes but - 1000 followers? 

That was an excessive amount- even for foodies. 

Opening up the app he scrolled through his notifications feeling a sense of duty to each one of his new followers - ranging from private to public accounts, some with profiles dedicated to meme of the month while others were a controlled mess of the admin's fandoms, celebrity worships and hobbies. He was weary opening a link that a few of his followers had sent attached with apple's popular winking emoji, giving no clue to the link's content. In 2018 it was considered either brave or stupid to open an unknown link with the possibilities of spam, viruses, porn, porn spam and viruses but Yuuri finally settled on a profile of a 17 year old girl from Haesetsu (looking back he'd known he was being biased). 

opening up said link, Yuuri couldn't have been prepared for what he saw next. 

"P-Phichit!!" 

Dumping his phone in favor of scrambling on top of his sleeping friend with the intent of making Phichit's murder look like an accident involving two drunk guinea pigs and a missing butter knife. With vigorous shaking, Yuuri managed to rouse him from his alcohol-induced slumber and even then he couldn't stop shaking him - the concept of fists completely foreign to his hands. Maybe if he shook hard enough he could rearrange Phichit's insides just as his panicking and slightly furious self was picturing. 

"Yuuuuuuri~!" Phichit's pitiful groan was sill not enough to douse Yuuri's completely validated frustration. Shoving his phone into the Thai male's face, his cheeks now discolored with noticeable patches of of rose quartz and ruby red. Phichit was yet to focus on the artificial light blaring directly into his eyes. Maybe Yuuri was trying to show him that he'd finally gotten past that was one level with the sixty second time limit? 

However judging by Yuuri's furious expression, the fact that he was being pinned down, the distinct buzz of alcohol fueling his migraine and the familiar layout of his Instagram page being shoved into his line of vision he knew that the video that he'd uploaded was an overnight success and upon further inspection he realized that his hashtag "ErosStripper" was trending. 

24 hour internet fame was what Phichit lived for and seeing his increased follower count and several thousand likes comments from probable underage, overage and in-between internet strangers instantly cured him of his hangover and with the enthusiasm of an exceptional fanboy he sat up and swiped Yuuri's phone from him, eyes starry in typical Rebecca Sugar fashion as he met his new fans halfway in the comments section of the video. 

Stripper  
ストリッパー  
ผู้เปลื่อง  
стриппер

It all meant the same no matter how foreign the word sounded as they were mispronounced in his current state of distress. They were unrecognizable as words, just noise that aptly expressed Yuuri's inner turmoil where words weren't enough. 

Over the years Phichit had educated himself on the topics of social anxiety, introverts and panic attacks as a condition of his friendship to Yuuri. However his enthusiasm often meant that he exposed the young Japanese male to triggers - unintentionally picking at his psychological scars like a child ripping roses from their bush with vicious twist of their stems. 

Sparing a second to properly stretch out his overused muscles in his thumbs he glanced over to Yuuri and upon noticing the unshed pools of tears, the quiver of his bottom lip and the discoloration of his skin, Phichit found himself with his arms full of Yuuri, the offensive device abandoned in the fluff of the room's installed carpeting. 

"No, no Yuuri don't cry. It's 2018, being called a stripper is a good thing now" he shushed, accentuating each word with a stroke of Yuuri's hair. 

"Besides!" 

Grabbing the young Japanese male's shoulder, Phichit's grin couldn't have been wider - a physical characteristic he showed off proudly in his numerous selfies - "You haven't forgotten the promise me, right!?" 

Deja vu. 

A familiar sense of dread stabbed at the glass walls of Yuuri's heart; ugly, jagged lines of fear, panic and anxiety slithering across the fragile surface. 

"P-Phichit!" 

~ 

How Yuuri found himself in a dance studio, the polished wooden surface of the floor stretched beneath multiple pairs of bare feet, was beyond him. 

For a fleeting second- the thought of his life resembling that of a story with an impatient author set on the intent of making his life out to be some sort of amusing parody- crossed his mind. Whether it was another other worldly being such as God himself or some sort of paradoxical creature putting pen to paper the joke would be on them. Yuuri would fail, there would be no beginning or end- just a messy climax- an epic collaboration of Yuuri's inability to perform as a normally functioning adult human being. 

"A-ah- how'= did you find this place...?" Yuuri managed to ask all while being pre-occupied with concealing the soft pouches of chub from the prying eyes of multiple body length mirrors that lined the walls of the studio. 

For once Phichit had grown quiet,a dark flush spreading across the naturally dark skin of his face "Er- I know one of the instructors! Chris-" 

"How do you know him?" Yuuri's face held nothing but suspicion, his normally slanted eyes squinted further in an accusing manner. Phichit only grew this nervous and flushed when he'd done something wrong or-

"Well I know him from several angles actually. Missionary, the swivel and grind, doggy style, spooning and the cowboy. I saved the best for last because I'm telling you, the guy is hung like a hors-" 

"P-PHICHIT!!" It was Yuuri's turn to blush, drawing the attention of several others from the group while Phichit apologized between his fits of laughter. Even as Yuuri was focusing on his mental and physical recovery he didn't miss the scowl aimed at him by a much smaller blonde male. Although Yuuri was bi-lingual his russian was sub-par but he was confident that the word "svin'ya" translated to pig. 

Self-loathe and doubt called for the little tears pooling at the corners of his eyes like morning dew - the remains of a bitter sweet night. Before he could use peer pressure as an excuse to break his promise to Phichit, two consecutive claps caught his attention, the room silencing with each beat of the instructor's palms against one another. 

The first thing he noticed was his hair. Platinum, thinning towards the middle, cut just short enough to frame the angled details of his jaw and cheekbones. So mesmerized by his hair he hadn't noticed that the instructor's eyes were equally immersed by his own characteristic features. 

"Uh...Viktor?" Chris paused mid-sentence to spare a confused glance in his direction even as said male approached the protagonist of our story. Yuuri allowed the man- Viktor- to brush the underside of his chin, the burning red of his cheeks a dead giveaway of his sexual orientation and shallow crush on his instructor. 

Yuuri could see his lips moving - forming words without sound with the intensity of Yuuri's focus on the man's lips. Unfortunately Yuuri had a knack for listening to the wrong thing- snapping out of his trance he realised he'd become the topic of a heated argument between Viktor and the blonde male who had called him a pig earlier. 

"He's too fat! This studio is supposed to be for people serious about dance! You've gone soft in your old age, Viktor!" 

Viktor could only smile and wave his hands dismissively before another instructor, sporting a buzzed muffin top hairstyle, approached the arguing pair, grabbing the shorter male's chin and gently tilting his face skyward with a smug sort of smirk "Don't worry Viktor, let me take this feisty little kitten off your hands. Let's see if we channel some of this anger into your eros, Yurio~" 

Chris sighed quietly as he watched the exchange before calling again for the group's attention "Viktor will now demonstrate what you will all hopefully be able to do at the end of your time here" he gestured towards the centre dancer's pole where said male had positioned himself.

Yuuri was completely enraptured as he admired each gentle arch of his legs, the clever twist of his back and the graceful stretch of his arms - unafraid and shameless in their sensual exploration of his god-given curves. His black leggings and purposefully fitted top left little to imagination- accentuating each muscled cut into his chest, arms, thighs and calves. The oxford dictionary's definition of perfection held little very little significance in the angelic characteristics that radiated off Viktor. He made a publicly chastised, lewd practice look like a gift bestowed by heaven. 

The gloves he'd worn pre-performance served to protect his untouched skin from the sins of putting his body on display in such an intimate and private manner. 

It was probably his untouched dick talking but Yuuri found himself wishing that he was the pole- y'know- so Viktor could grind up on him instead-! 

Shit! Even his fantasies sounded stupid and awkward in his head. 

Finishing his performance. Viktor's chest rose and fell with each soft pant, skin tattooed with a fine sheet of sweat- evidence of his physical exertion. His eyes were focused primarily on Yuuri, his lips curling up into a smile as he appreciated yuuri's own flushed appearance. 

"Do you think you'll be able to handle it?" 

Yuuri was so screwed. 

..By Viktor 

Dammit!!


	3. Twenty-eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phichit needs to work on his friendship with Yuuri.   
> Viktor is getting old.   
> Yurio needs to take it down a notch.  
> Otabek is....unsure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever since I updated and I'm glad to see people leaving kudos and comments on my work so thank you all for that! *^* I'll try to update regularly but with uni and other commitments, I can't guarantee I will. Without further ado, enjoy! :)

“You’re getting too old for this” Chris commented, putting thought to words as Viktor peeled back the thin layer of slipper socks from his feet. The elastic material served to conceal the painful mounds of blistering skin making an ugly mess of what once were the pillars of his strength. 

“Do I really look thirty?” The platinum haired male asked even as his attention remained on each misshapen gash – fingertips grazing the scarred over sores.   
In truth his mind was elsewhere, a smile forcing the slight upward tilt of his lips at the image of Yuuri’s blatant admiration of him. 

“Twenty-eight.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Twenty-eight,’ Chris corrected from where he stood in the doorway, duffel bag slung casually over his shoulder – eager to leave the studio for the day. 

It was unrealistic to have been teaching for as long as he had and somehow still have any sort of expectations for their students. Had he paid close attention he would’ve known that Yurio’s movements would be erratic – sharp even – as though his anger was a living, breathing being – an infection making his blood boil and see the world through a red looking-glass. 

Despite his lack of grace and lack of emotional capacity the instructors were able to silently acknowledge his naturally flexible physique. Where his movements were flawed and easily comparable to that of a one-legged pigeon there was no denying the fact that the fiery-tempered male possessed a natural ability that allowed him to execute a perfect split. Only through the comparison of a mythical being – a fairy seemed the most plausible – could one understand and appreciate the beauty and inhuman perfection behind the seemingly simple exercise. 

Should the hyperbole fail to convince you of such an undeniable fact then I would ask you to consider the almost comical silence that hushed the entirety of the room and its   
occupants as each individual spent the next sixty seconds to admire and feed Yurio’s ego with awestruck expressions and string of incoherent praises. 

Yurio knew he was good and he didn’t fail to rub it in everyone’s faces. There was just something so empowering about being so much better then those older then you. 

Similar things could be said about the others. 

Minami – The embodiment of youth and a thirteen-year-old yaoi fan’s idea of a uke. However, like many clichés he lacked long-term focus.   
Seung gil – The perfect combination of jock and closet gay – attentive, mysterious, focused but lacked charm and stamina.   
Otabek – With an intimidation factor of 100 and a 0 for social skills Otabek proved to be stoic and persistent. However, he failed to express any sort of emotion both in his movements and his face.   
Phichit – Like a kid in a candy store the Thai male showed eagerness, positivity and an ability to pick things up quickly. However, he lacked any sort of sensuality which was ironic considering the sex. 

And then there was Yuuri. 

Had there been time to spare, Chris could have come up with kinder words to summarize the male’s inability to preform even at a basic level. 

He lacked any sort of skill was putting it lightly. 

Not only was he physically unsuited, he was the farthest thing from athletically capable. His movements sloppy, uncoordinated and distracting, his limbs lost in their own erratic rhythm. He lacked self-confidence and exposed his vulnerability, wearing it like a target as his frustration, self-doubt and humiliation were laid out for all too see in the heat of his cheeks and dew-like tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.   
To be cruel was to be kind, right? 

As the pair stepped out onto the pavement, following an old tradition of checking the locked door thrice, Viktor spoke up. 

“Twenty-eight seems too young, don’t you think?” 

“Almost thirty. Don’t worry. I think domestic life suits you.” 

~ 

It was a foreign place filled with primal beasts that knew instinct over thought. 

A gym really did set humanity back in its evolutionary process. 

Was it normal for a room to smell so strongly of strangers B.O as their sweat spilled onto the equipment? 

It was a good business. 

A guy walks into a gym, bench presses fifty kilograms, gets diagnosed with herpes the next day. 

No wonder doctors recommended regular exercise. 

It was profitable. 

Five minutes on the treadmill had Yuuri puffed out, his heart palpitating unnaturally at the sudden trauma it was being forced to endure. It wasn’t natural – apart from Olympians and gazelles – no human was made to run that fast on the spot. 

“Yuuuuuuuuuriiii~” Phichit called out from across the room, forcing Yuuri’s attention towards him as he fast approached. 

Having no choice but to follow the direction of his best friend’s voice with his eyes, Yuuri was not prepared for the sight he was met with.   
Were guy shorts meant to ride up like that? 

All it had taken was one lesson. 

One lesson and he’d never wanted anything more then to be at Viktor’s level, to take his ungloved hand with his own and pull him forward into a rhythm that none could understand save for their bodies. It was a feeling that set his heart alight – far more intensely then what any form of exercise could do. 

It took a full thirty seconds for the Thai male to understand Yuuri’s sudden desire to work out.   
And another ten seconds for his infamous shit-eating grin to spread across his face. “What was it that did it for you? That heart shaped smile? Or the silver hair” he asked as the pair headed to the locker room, an animated flush creeping up to the tips of Yuuri’s ears making it impossible to attempt denial. 

Misshapen tears spilled from his eyes, as the anxieties that came as a cost of living began to overwhelm his senses. It wasn’t flattering having strangers glance his way, sharing looks of confusion and discomfort at such a public display.   
“What would you know!?” He managed to get out through the tightening of his chest and throat before pushing past a stunned Phichit as he ran for the exit, eventually slowing down to a walk once he’d put enough distance between himself and the building. 

Generally speaking it took five minutes of rest following exercise for a heart beat to return to its initial pace. Five minutes became ten and even as ten became fifteen his heart continued to beat erratically. 

~

Yurio could’ve sworn that he’d watched the same video in every which way he could think of – sprawled out on the couch, lying upside down with knees bent over the headrest until his cheeks were burning with blood, sprawled over the arm rest like lazy cat before returning to his original position - legs crossed and staring menacingly at the screen until his retina’s sizzled from the artificial heat it produced. 

“Again?” Otabek asked from somewhere behind the couch, approaching the parallel coffee table with two steaming mugs, one black as night and the other so doused in milk that it gave a light brown – almost blonde – sort of color. Both containing two teaspoons of sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“Why’re you getting so worked up over him?” He added as he took his place beside the blonde male, throwing a casual arm over the armrest behind his head to which Yurio instinctively made himself comfortable in otabek’s side without taking his eyes off the video. 

Should an outsider looking in ask if they were boyfriends, Otabek would almost immediately avert his gaze while Yurio attempted to protest loudly in Russian. 

The loudest person in the room was, after all, the most correct person in the room. 

Even among themselves they’d yet to admit aloud of the undeniable fact. The term ‘boyfriends’ proved to be intimidating word – a sort of formal, bold, term that pressured the parties involved to arrange dates, buy fluffy gifts and in turn act as though the entirety of the world was filled with hearts and rainbows.   
The truth of the matter was that Yurio was an angsty, emotional guy with an inflated ego who placed constant pressure on himself to be better then his competition. While Otabek was very much a man of little words and expressive facial features, choosing to enjoy the simplicity of life all whilst harboring immense feelings of admiration and care for Yurio.   
They were content with what they had and felt no need to stick a label on it for others to admire and spare words of a congratulatory nature at. 

“Why? What’s so special? What was Viktor looking at!?” The blonde male scowled as he tossed his phone aside in a huff even as Otabek spared a second to take a lazy sip of his burning black beverage. 

With a soft hum in response, the taller of the two gently took strands of Yurio’s shoulder length hair and gently, with immense focus began weaving sections of it into braids in an attempt to deflate his aggravation. 

“There are others in the class” he answered even as he continued to methodically braid the smaller male’s hair, his brows dipping closer together by a mere millimeter giving a small indication of him slipping into his thought process “Phichit, Minami, Georgi, Seu-“ 

“Extras!” Yurio snapped with a particularly vicious twist of his head to the side causing Otabek to lose his grip on an unfinished braid. 

It was fear rather then anger that manifested itself in his actions. Yurio strived to be the best, and if he wasn’t the best then what was he? What was the point of the blistering feet? The hours of spirit-crushing, physically demanding, expensive, training? The support of everyone who expected greatness from him? The continual efforts stretching from his childhood and going right into his adulthood? The sacrifice of his body even as he slowly lost control over it, like a puppet master and his tangled strings. 

Following a minute of uncomfortable silence, Yurio got up without another word, arms limp at his side as he headed over to the front door, slipping on his long-abandoned trainers “I'm going out” were his only words, matching otabek’s unwavering personality with a monotone voice.   
An unused emotion – worry – seemed to fill the crevices of the taller male’s chest as Yurio slammed the door shut behind him, plunging the room into a silence so boring and unworthy of description. 

Although their relationship seemed to bloom on a series of unspoken agreements, Otabek – with his eyes focused on the closed door – had begun to feel the very real, very mainstream feelings associated with having a new relationship. 

Otabek couldn’t help but notice the slight crack in the door frame that Yurio had left behind because of his brute strength.

It wasn’t big, nor all that noticeable but nonetheless its existence was known. 

Why did it feel like Yurio had slammed the door on much more than just their conversation?


End file.
